The De'Nauguath Chronicles - Book 1: The Summoner's Daughter

Chapter 17: Humbled

Biyaño

I woke sharpish. I couldn't feel my hands.n I looked down. They were both hooked around the longknife.

"Do you often sleep armed?"

I craned my neck around.

Michen's stern face was – smirking? – but his eyes were hard. He gestured to me. I looked at the knife in my lap. He knew it was missing, then. I'd been seen. He took two steps forward. "I told you there were other ways."

"I don't have to explain away what keeps me alive."

He bridged the distance and leaned a hand on the rail of the felon's ledge. "Fear is a parasite. It spoils happy moments and makes quiet men violent."

"You've been in the mountains too long." I stood. "Things work how they work. We don't have to enjoy them and we don't have to agree with 'em, but they won't be ignored."

"Well spoken from someone who prefers a nap in a cupboard to a long rest in a bed." He looked at my hand, white-knuckled around the knife. "I make no secret of our ways. Nothing called for theft."

I held the knife up near my face and watched the blade shine in the failing sunlight. It was perfect. There wasn't the slightest nick or warp. I wagged it in the air. "What kind of enemy did you expect on your doorstep? What should I expect?"

"We stay separated from Adica's other peoples to avoid unrest. If none know us, none can fight us."

I climbed out of the felon's ledge. "Those weapons are polished and oiled. There e'nt a rusty or dull blade in the place. Your bows are ready, not just assembled. That tells me two tales: either you enjoy sparring or you wait for an ill wind." I walked away from the ledge and started for the other side of the building. He didn't follow me when I headed for the pillar and climbed down.

* * *

I hadn't forgotten the promise of training. I had one more day left until then. It shouldn't have set my teeth on edge. It could've meant anything, and that didn't need to mean something bad. But it probably was. I paced in my quarters for hours. Now and then, I took the weapons out, just to remind myself that I had them.

If it came to the truth, I wasn't fit to be a fighter. I could be spry in a pinch, but I'd mostly escaped trouble by good timing. I knew there were tricks to doing things without getting hurt in the effort, and I knew that I didn't know those tricks.

I finally rooted around every corner of the room and took a hard look at its contents. The sideboard had a dozen bottles of drink, some with smells that were too strong for my liking. I thought about 'em, aye. I thought about 'em for hours. But something stopped me. Better to leave headiness to a time when I knew I could sleep it off, I reckoned. I'd tried to work my way off it once or twice. Between need and chance, it hadn't worked. But this time, I didn't shake or sweat half as much as I expected. Hell, I barely did at all. What had Michen done?

The washroom was one of the cleanest little corners I'd ever seen, with a bathing tub big enough to drown a man in. The sights from the balcony weren't especially pretty, but at least it was very open. Aye, I could use it to sneak out if I had to.

The wardrobe held every manner of clothes, from plain hunting gear to a velvet gown. I'd never seen a real gown and only knew it by the word. There were already two knives stashed in a bottom drawer of the wardrobe, though they were plainer than what I'd pilfered. Whose room had this been before I'd arrived?

There was a leather belt with a kufri-sized sheath. I promptly put it on and slipped a knife in. But most surprising were the shoes: there were four pairs of them. What settled person needed four choices of shoes? There were boots, but they only vaguely looked like my sorry old pair. I would've gladly paid ten years' wages on such things. I put them on in a dash.